More Strength Than You Can Possibly Imagine
by StarProphecy7279
Summary: In an attempt to save his dictator-ruled world, England kidnaps someone from a different world and, unwittingly, begins an inter-universal war.


A/N: Another one? Hell yes! I thought this one up while I was in the hospital and just now figured out how to start it. Enjoy.

This was easily one of the coldest winter in memory. Black ice covered the now treacherous streets of London, making the already slick with snow roads even more dangerous. An Icy wind blew mercilessly all around the city, sneaking its way past windows and under doors, forcing families to huddle in their living rooms in front of fires in a vain attempt at retaining warmth. This late at night, most of the city had retired to bed, curled up in balls under their many blankets, desperate to keep out the cold. However, one window remained bright, lit by a flickering candle just bright enough to illuminate the papers strewn all over the occupants desk. This room, even more freezing due to the lack of heating implements, looked as though the owner had not been bothered to clean up in months. Papers and books piled themselves all over the desk and floors. Here and there, one could find a scribbled note and even a ripped out page from some unusual tomb crumbled on the wooden floor or stuffed under the tiny bed jammed into the corner. The room was stale-smelling as if no one had been in or out in weeks and scattered all around the desk were burnt out candle stubs, apparently due to the lack of electricity in this shabby building.

The room's one occupant, sighed, dropping his pen and bringing his hands to rub against bright green, exhausted eyes. The man had not slept in nearly two days and his exhaustion was beginning to manifest itself in his work. Yawning widely, the man held his aching hands up to the candle-the only light illuminating this dank room- in an attempt to banish a small amount of the cold that had wrapped itself so securely around his body.

He had no idea how long he had been held up in here, though he knew it had to have been close to a year. He had spent all the time desperately and guiltily searching and searching for the answers he need to appease the man that had imprisoned him here in his own capitol city. The weight of the world rest on his shoulders as he looked for something, anything, to keep the psychotic man happy just long enough for the resistance to grow stronger, stronger than it had ever been in the last nearly five centuries of its existence.

In that time, Arther Kirkland had been left as nothing more than a prisoner, a slave like everyone else to the master of this world-a man who, drunk with power, had lost nearly all of his humanity and sanity that fateful day he had won the most significant battle in history. A man who had lost what had remained of his mind nearly a year previously to a selfish boy who had taken his own life.

"Hello, Arther."

Arther jumped at the sound of the voice he hated so much, a fear, icier than the frost on the window pooling into his stomach.

"Sir... I didn't hear you come in." He knew he had to be very careful of what next came out of his mouth. One wrong move and he was dead, his world doomed to the wrath of their ruler.

"Funny," the man simpered in a falsely curious voice, striding towards Arther in a state of mock calm. "I distinctly remember saying you were to work until you found what you needed to preform the procedure accurately. It does not look to me as if you are working."

Arther spun around in his seat, meeting the eye of the man that had tortured him so horribly for nearly 500 years.

"I'm very close now, sir," Arther said, surprised at how easily he could now be polite to this man he would like nothing more than to murder. "I've nearly cracked the code. There are only a few more necessary elements and then I will be done."

"That is not good enough," the man snarled, hatefully. "I feel I have been more than generous in the time I have allotted you. Why is it not yet complete?"

"S-sir... these things take time. They're rather complex and-"

"You claimed to be an expert in this area, Kirkland!" Arther winced: Anger in this man's voice was never followed by anything good.

"I am," Arther assured. "I just need more time-"

This was evidently the wrong thing to say: The man suddenly launched himself forward, knocking Arther out of his chair and sending both of them sprawling to the ground, Arther's throat pinned beneath the man's arm.

"I have given you nearly seven months to complete this task!" It took all the self control Arther had not to flinch away as the man shrieked at him, flecks of spit hitting his face in the man's rage. "That should have been plenty of time!"

"M-magic is tricky," Arther gasped, struggling to free himself. "These formulas are remarkably complex. It can take months or even years to-"

"You have had months, Kirkland. You should have had this done weeks ago!"

"Just give me one more week," Arther begged. " I'll have it perfect by then, I swear!"

"You'd better," The man snarled in Arther's face. "Because if you don't, there _will_ be hell to pay."

That, Arther knew, didn't even begin to cover the horror that would be put upon the world if he failed. If the man did not get what he wanted, he would destroy the little land Arther had left, torture him to the point of insanity just like last time. The years and years of resistance would have been all for nothing and the world would be left in ruin.

Of course part of the reason this project was taking so very long was because of the guilt he felt in doing what he was about to do. The man did not know it but, Arther would be putting another world in serious jeopardy by fulfilling his wish, not that the man would be bothered if he knew. Another world could be rocked to its very foundations by this reckless experiment, possibly even destroyed. But Arther had to do it, he had to think of his own world and what was best for it. He had been fighting for 300 years, dedicating his life to regaining the country he had lost so long ago, regain control from the psychotic man that now held his life in his hands. But he could do nothing about it while imprisoned here, in his own capitol, with no information as to how the resistance was coming along. He had to do this. He had to do whatever it took to keep this power-crazed maniac sane just long enough to keep the world together while they figured out how to destroy him.

The man got to his feet, dusting himself off as if just touching Arther had sullied him.

"I'm warning you, Kirkland," the man said, striding towards the door. "One more week or you'll regret it."

And on that ominous note, the man Arther loathed so much left him alone to do his devilish bidding.

A/N: I'm posting this just as a trial run for the story. If you like it, let me know and I'll continue :D


End file.
